


the cancer I don't have is everywhere now

by brandywine421



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Empires, Fall Out Boy, Merlin (TV), Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandywine421/pseuds/brandywine421
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon had on his trademarked 'punk rock warpaint' that made him more recognizable than most of the other agents. The media loved the shots of zombie packs getting burned and massacred - the deadeyes had taken so much of their world already and the public needed to see that they could take some of it back. The teams he sent out to eliminate the outbreaks were heroes and it was up to Gabe to keep them alive long enough to earn the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cancer I don't have is everywhere now

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is complete and utter fiction. I own nothing. Opening quote from Max Brooks' "Zombie Survival Guide" and remaining section breaks belong to Fight Club, movie and book.
> 
> Note: Originally posted October 2011 as a contribution to ZombieBang on LJ.
> 
> Note 2: Apologies for the whack spacing. AO3 is slightly mystifying.

**disclaimer** : This is complete and utter fiction. I own nothing. Opening quote from Max Brooks' "Zombie Survival Guide" and remaining section breaks belong to Fight Club, movie and book.  
 **pairings** : Brendon/Spencer, Merlin/Arthur (past mentions of Tom/Sean, Pete/Patrick, etc.)  
 ****

 

_He comes from the grave, his body a home of worms and filth.  
No life in his eyes, no warmth of his skin, no beating of his breast.  
His soul, as empty and dark as the night sky. He laughs at the blade, spits at the arrow, for they will not harm his flesh. For eternity, he will walk the earth, smelling the sweet blood of the living,feasting upon the bones of the damned.  
Beware, for he is the living dead._  
\- Obscure Hindu Text, Circa 1000 B.C.E.

  
  
_**This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.**_

 

Gabe didn't remember much about the night Patrick inadvertently started the Agency. He knew he was there, he remembered toasting Travie with a glass of hot beer while Andy fucked around with a laptop across from them.

Patrick and Pete were 'training' with a set of foam bats from the 'Smash A Gopher' game. Pete grunted and zombie marched toward Patrick and he grinned, talking to an invisible classroom. "This is only one zombie, best not to waste a bullet, just pretend like you're playing t-ball, line up your swing and 'bam!'. Pete pretended to fall after the foam bounced off his impeccably spiked hair.

"Hey, it's working, say something cool," Andy said, tilting the screen toward Patrick.

"We need a cool name, because we're badass zombie hunters," Pete said.

"We aren't really hunting them, asshole, they outnumber us," Travie called over.

"Okay, zombie fighters - because we're fucking well going to fight for our city back," Pete said.

"You probably want to call us something stupid like 'The Agency' and make us sound important," Patrick said, hitting him with the bat.

"We are important. We've run the Deadeyes out of the east side and locked down two communes that gave us free beer," Gabe said.

Patrick laughed and wrapped his arm around Pete, facing the tiny webcam. "You heard him, folks, for a small fee of free beer and beef jerky, call us now for all your Deadeye protection needs. Operators are standing by."

There had been more toasts and stale Fritos and then shots and maybe some pot but considering everything that had happened after that night, he wondered why he couldn't remember it better. It was the start of something that should've been hope, it should've given him a purpose.

But he'd lost too much now to care about whatever purpose there would be at the end.

 

****

**You do the little job you're trained to do. Pull a lever. Push a button.  
You don't understand any of it, and then you just die.**

**  
**

"We got a new job. Brendon, fucking pay attention for once," Gabe said, kicking the folding chair underneath Brendon and startling him to consciousness.

"Fuck you, Gabe, we just got in an hour ago," Spencer snarled from across the room where he was nearly cuddling the coffee maker.

"I don't have to be awake to listen. Osmosis counts. New case. Not allowed to nap, I'm on it," Brendon said.

Gabe didn't have time for empathy, not these days. "We're all fucking tired, the whole world's tired, but I don't fucking care right now."

"Suck my dick," Brendon muttered. Gabe didn't remember the big-eyed kid that he'd first met when the world had just ended, not when he knew this Brendon so well.

Brendon had on his trademarked 'punk rock warpaint' that made him more recognizable than most of the other agents. The media loved the shots of zombie packs getting burned and massacred - the deadeyes had taken so much of their world already and the public needed to see that they could take some of it back. The teams he sent out to eliminate the outbreaks were heroes and it was up to Gabe to keep them alive long enough to earn the title.

Spencer walked over with a paper cup of coffee and hip-checked him against the desk. Gabe's hand was around his throat before he could take another step. "Stand down, Smith."

"Fuck off, Saporta," Spencer replied.

The door opened and he recognized Travie's footsteps without moving. "We lost Portland."

The words hung over the tense room and his fingers relaxed so Spencer could move forward.

"Who made the error? Suarez and Ripley had it all plotted out, it was a simple hack and slash," Brendon said, his charcoal eyeliner matching the natural hollows under his eyes.

"Don't know yet, we're still getting reports. Fence went down on multiple sides," Travie said. "Boss tell you the new job?"

"Had to take a douchebag break," Spencer said, not looking up from his coffee. Spencer didn't need to wear makeup to slaughter the walking corpses; his glare usually made him the boss in any situation.

"We're bringing in the Brits, and Chicago. There's been an outbreak in Sacramento. Bad. We can't lose the West Side," Gabe said.

Brendon glanced at Spencer. "We've worked with Emrys and Pen before. Who do we get from Chicago?"

"The best they have left. We can't lose the West Side," Gabe repeated.

"Tell us when to be at the airstrip," Spencer said.

 

**__**

**I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid.  
Then I ran some more.**

**  
**

"Hey. Hey, guy. You might want to get up here before they figure out where you're hiding. They might be zombies, but they will eat garbage if they have to and you, my friend, are sitting in garbage."

Spencer hasn't heard another human voice in days - the walking dead didn't speak, they only grunted and moaned. But there's a kid looking down on him from the back dock of the building he's hiding behind. He has red lines and swirls drawn on one side of his face and there's a slightly taller and bonier guy behind him on the dock with birds drawn on his face in shiny gold lines. What the fuck was this?

There are dead fucking people walking around out here and they were putting on makeup and wearing girl pants like it was 2004 or something?

"He's probably infected, Brendon, it's a lost cause, come inside," the skinny one says.

"Wait - no, I'm not bitten, I'm just...fucking freaked out," Spencer says quickly. They could be crazy, but Spencer's well on his way to crazy.

"Come on," 'Brendon' says, offering a hand and pulling him out of his hiding place behind the dumpsters and onto the dock. "We're leaving tonight but you'll have time to clean up and I'll split my rations with you if you're hungry."

"Why?" Spencer asks after a moment. "You don't even know me."

Brendon shrugs. "I could leave you out here to get eaten, but personally, I support your continued existence simply because you haven't tried to eat my brains yet."

Spencer follows him without thinking, even if the bird-guy glares at him when he passes. This might end badly, but it was better than cowering in a pile of trash waiting to die.

The door opens up into a flower shop with wilted stems and scattered blossoms strewn around the room. He's never been here before; he always ordered his mother's day flowers online. He doesn't have anyone to send flowers to now, and there isn't going to be a flower-worthy funeral around until somebody did something about these goddamn zombies.

"We wanted to keep it interesting, who doesn't love a challenge, you know? So fuck convenience stores or places with supplies, we decided to squat in a flower shop just for shits and giggles," Brendon says, his striking brown eyes flashing with something other than humor.

He takes the time to take a full breath and look at the strangers. Brendon is compact and thin, his tight jeans and unlaced high tops out of place in the quaint shop. He has on several layers of shirts under his hoodie and tight motorcycle gloves on his hands. The other guy is even more confusing in a leather vest and skin tight leather gloves that disappear under his tailored coat.

"I didn't know it was a flower shop, asshole," the other guy says.

"I'm Brendon and he's Ryan. We've known each other three days and we're still working out the friend variable. Tell me about you, name, preferred way to kill people that are already dead, assets to helping us get the fuck out of town, Go."

Spencer isn't used to pop quizzes but both guys are studying him openly and he has to speak. "Spencer. I have no idea what's going on. My sisters killed our parents and tried to bite me - they aren't my sisters anymore and I ran, I'm running."

"Did you kill them?" Ryan asks, his eyes dark. "Headshot?"

"No! I ran. They're my sisters," Spencer replies, shocked. He couldn't kill them.

"They're not your sisters anymore. This...fuck. We can't save them, we can only put them down and run like hell," Brendon says.

"What's with the makeup?" Spencer asks, ignoring his words. He can't think about his sisters or his parents now.

"Warpaint. Because this is fucking war, now. I'm going to wash up and change, get to work on the vending machine and we can see what the noob has to contribute," Ryan says.

"You're still in shock, probably. I've already made the move to the second stage of panic and insanity. You'll get there," Brendon says, patting him on the back.

 

**__**

**I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad,  
but God's got this all wrong.**

**  
**

Spencer didn't bother taking off his jacket, falling back on the cot and stretching out. The repurposed high school was perfect for their base in the New World, lots of room for barracks, computer labs for tech rooms and a gymnasium for the growing medical center. He didn't care that his cot was situated underneath a map of Belgium, he didn't care if there was even a Belgium left at this point.

He needed to sleep and not think for a little while. He was too tired to think about flying to Sacramento to go into another fight. The zombies just kept coming, no matter what. It was nice to have a place to sleep where he didn't have to hear the shuffle of dead feet outside hungering for his flesh.

He was vaguely aware of Brendon's weight on the edge of the bed and his fingers, still in gloves, unlatching Spencer's bullet vest and starting on the buttons of his jacket.

They had a routine that neither was willing to break or admit. He sat up when the air hit his bared chest and tugged off his shirt and let Brendon pull his belt from the loops of his jeans before starting on his boot laces.

"Are you getting undressed?" Spencer asked, opening his eyes in the dim classroom and blinking at him.

"Mm. Shower first, I think, then sleep. Too tired to fuck," Brendon mumbled. Spencer was never sure if Brendon was completely lucid in the eye of the zombie storms.

"Hurry up. I don't care if you're all sweaty," Spencer said. The sex was just a side dish to what held them together. He didn't count his history before the zombies - all he had left to hold onto was Brendon, the one constant in this life. It was the only thing he let himself hold onto. They'd been alone too long for him to dare let go of Brendon now.

"Mm. Sleepy as shit but too dirty to sleep. Be right back. Skin care is important." Brendon shuffled out of the room and Spencer sighed, leaning back to doze until he came back.

He hadn't killed his first zombie when he'd met Brendon but he was a quick learner. Brendon was different then, they both were. They fought out of fear, desperate to get out of Vegas but still hoping for rescue. It was only after Ryan that they became the people they were now.

It was easy for them to fall into bed after months together hiding out all night and killing zombies all day. It was something to do at first, and then it became something more. They were too entwined in each other to worry about making friends or wasting emotions on people they couldn't trust not to die.

He wasn't sure how long Brendon took to shower but he wrapped his arm around him automatically when he stretched out on the cot beside him. Brendon was a cuddle hog and immediately curled up to play little spoon before his mouth dropped open and he snored softly in Spencer's ear. He could fall asleep now and actually rest with the familiarity of Brendon breathing and warm in his arms.

 

**__**

**When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered.  
We all felt saved.**

**  
**

"Do we have to, Arthur? Can't we just sleep until we have to head out again?" Merlin asked, hoping it didn't sound like a complete whine.

Arthur frowned at him, still capable of making him feel guilty without a word. "We skipped out on the interview in Biloxi, and it'll be good for morale if we tell the media that it's secure again. It's our responsibility."

Merlin looked away to roll his eyes. Personally, he hated going into a fight with exhaustion clinging to his edges but Arthur had a way of fighting twice as hard when he was tired. Merlin had never understood it, but it had saved his ass enough times for him to respect it.

"Don't pout," Arthur said when Merlin reached for the door latch of the jeep.

Merlin sighed. He still saw his friends' white eyes and bared teeth behind his eyelids but he wasn't sure how he'd ended up on one of the traveling teams dedicated to organizing zombie defense around the country. Hell, it wasn't even their native country but Britain had their own problems and three years after the Virus, he doubted anywhere would be 'home' again.

"Seriously. You're being a baby," Arthur said, patting him hard on the back as they walked toward the security circle outside the gate of the Saporta compound.

Merlin shook off his touch. He was too tired for Arthur's condescension today. He walked up to the guard and shrugged out of his jacket and started on his belt.

He stepped into the Ring first, the sun high and warm as he held his arms out so the first guard could search him for injuries. The repurposed shark suits with the titanium chain mail to protect him from zombie teeth left patterns in his skin but the bruises weren't hiding any bites. The next guard moved in to double check his naked body for damage and he ignored Arthur's complaints that a zombie wouldn't bite him in the balls. Merlin didn't mind the thoroughness considering the faded bloodstains in the dirt from the infected agents that had made it back to base.

"Have you had unprotected sex lately? Any open wounds going into the field?" the guard asked.

"Unprotected sex with that asshole, no wounds, no exchange of bodily fluids with unchecked persons," Merlin recited automatically. There had been too many breaches by lovers having sex with infected partners before they figured out how it worked. Merlin gladly offered up his privacy to stay alive.

After a few months of anarchy and chaos, the straggles of survivors found out that travelling and living in groups was safer than going it alone. People started to settle, regroup and rebuild. People that had been bunkered down in the cities started venturing into the open again. The military had almost no presence but with people scattered, it was hard for any communication or warnings to get out; but servers and programs designed to keep running independently were godsends. Slowly, people turned to the internet and television again and word began to spread. People suddenly had destinations to head for and safety in numbers.

"Press is waiting in the lobby; webcam goes live in thirty minutes. Welcome back," the guard said, holding out his clothes.

"Am I seriously going to get the silent treatment from you?" Arthur asked.

"Just stop for a little while, please?" Merlin sighed. "I get it, okay? No complaints, no honest comments about being fucking tired and no signs of weakness, I get it. Lay the hell off me today."

"You should've slept on the chopper," Arthur muttered.

Merlin moved ahead and stepped into the building and headed straight for the coffee desk. Saporta's was one of the few places they got coffee that wasn't instant.

"Boss has a new job for you after the press releases. Two days and wheels are up for Sacramento," the barista for today said, holding out a cup by the time he stepped up.

"Thanks," Merlin said. There wasn't anyone else to help the people right now when all the government was handling was the dispersion of supplies, ammunition and medicine. There were a lot of people depending on them. Merlin just wasn't sure he'd ever feel worthy of the responsibilities. But he had two more days of being alive with no strings before he had to face being dead again.

 

**__**

**On a large enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone will drop to zero.**

 

"Do you see anything?" Arthur whispers over his shoulder when Merlin scans the corridor outside their dorm room.

He doesn't know his roommate that well, they'd both transferred to the American university at the same time and Arthur never made it a secret that he couldn't understand his Irish accent and it was too much work for him to try. Merlin pretty much hated the guy from the beginning but things were rapidly changing now that their Resident Advisor had turned cannibal in the student lounge.

They are everywhere, the zombies with white pupils and bloodthirst are wandering the campus in packs, and he's seen too many people killed through his window over the past twenty-four hours to think that it's a nightmare anymore.

They have to get the hell out of here. They'd spent all night going room to room finding them all empty, or hiding eviscerated corpses, some of them struggling toward them with fingerless hands and limbs held together loosely by dangling ligaments.

He holds the baseball bat with white-knuckled fingers as he scans the hallway again, spotting movement out of the edge of his vision.

"Merlin?"

"Shut up," he hisses, waiting for the shadow to show him who was wandering toward them. He catches sight of the white eyes and sucks in a breath. He knew it was going to come to this eventually. But they had to get out.

He adjusts his grip and steps out of the room, stalking toward the zombie without thinking about the person that used to be behind the face. Lance had been one of the first people he'd made friends with here. But the dark eyes that he's used to being alive with mirth and kindness are white with death and hunger.

He swings the bat, connecting with his stomach and Lance lets out a grunted moan when he falls. It only takes a moment for him to reach out blindly for Merlin's legs and he swings again. And again. He swings to get Lance's face off the monster groaning in desperation and not pain.

"He's dead, stop, he's fucking dead, Merlin, Jesus," Arthur says, pulling him back by the arm.

"He was already dead," Merlin hears himself say, unable to look away from the blood and brain matter puddle where Lance's head is supposed to be.

 

**__**

**What's worse? Hell or nothing?**

**  
**

Brendon sat up with a jolt, his gun in his hand when he felt the nudge on the shoulder.

"Still got those reflexes, kid." Brendon blinked up at the familiar voice and his mouth turned up in a real smile.

"Pete, I thought you retired," he said, pulling the heavily tattooed guy into an embrace. Pete was one of the first agents he met with Saporta's network, and one of the only agents left from the old guard that hadn't taken over an outpost.

"Yeah, me too. But Sean's going through some shit and I can't leave them hanging. Plus, California, you know?" Pete said, releasing him so Brendon could get to his feet and tuck the blanket over the still sleeping Spencer.

"Sean? I figured Chicago's agents would be...oh fuck, Pete," Brendon realized.

"Tom went Robert Paulson," Pete replied, looking away. Sean and Tom had been together from the beginning, just like Brendon and Spencer and most of the other pairings. People that worked in teams survived a lot longer than solos.

Spencer stirred and his face turned down into a frown. He'd wake up in a few moments, aware of Brendon's presence in a sometimes creepy way.

Pete reached up and rubbed at his cheek. "Missed a spot. You gonna let me paint you up before we head out?"

It always struck Brendon as karmic that Ryan Ross' habits had become such a part of the Agency's lingo when he hadn't even made it that far. Brendon wore the Ross warpaint and Spencer recited Palahniuk from the memorized text. Every time an agent had to be executed in the Ring, in remembrance they'd say "his name was Robert Paulson" without needing it to make sense to outsiders. Prayer didn't happen much in the Agency, but they said the quote with reverence for losing a member of the greater cause.

"Where is Sean?" Brendon asked, glancing around the room.

"Drinking it out with Gabe and Travie in the common area. He wants time to sober up before we have to go out again."

Brendon wanted to ask the guy if he thought they were making a dent in the pandemic but that was the question no one ever asked out loud. "Probably a good plan. How've you been? How was retirement?"

Pete shrugged, sitting down by the window and leaning back to soak up the sunlight. "I don't know. I can't explain it. I mean, visiting the camps on a job, I didn't really get what life would be like when I got out. I lived in an apartment building in what used to be downtown Chicago with a bunch of strangers who expected me to link up and be part of the team. I don't really make friends as well as I used to."

"I get that," Brendon said softly. Pete had been with Patrick for years before the apocalypse, he'd never planned on 'retiring' alone.

"It was fine, what am I talking about - but Sean needed a familiar face and I've got a lot of friends in California," Pete sighed.

"Wentz. Good to see you, bastard," Spencer said, sitting up and glancing between them.

"You, too, Spence. Keeping this one straight?" Pete asked, cuffing Brendon on the back of the head fondly.

"I don’t think Brendon was ever straight," Spencer replied deadpan.

Brendon had a solid few hours of sleep, Spencer nearby and a friend he'd known in the past. Maybe today could be a good day.

**__**

 

**I wanted to breathe smoke. I wanted to burn the Louvre.  
I'd do the Elgin Marbles with a sledgehammer and wipe my ass with the Mona Lisa.  
This is my world, now. This is my world, my world, and those ancient people are dead.** ****

**  
**

"Fuck yeah! Take that zombie dickwads!" Gabe bellows from the bed of the pickup when the first bomb went off behind them. Travie tugs out three more pins and hurled the grenades at the few dead-eyes that weren't on fire.

The armory raids had gone off without a single loss and the few people 'guarding' the weapons had welcomed living people to help them fend off the zombies.

He'd gotten out of his hotel three weeks ago, saving four people he knew and losing forty-two that he didn't.

This wasn't supposed to be his life. Granted, wearing a suit and running his father's business wasn't supposed to be his life either, but he wouldn't have traded it for this.

Goddamn dead-eyed zombies killing all his friends, attacking kids and families and just fucking up the whole fucking world.

He doesn't have anyone to live for but he's got something to die for now. He's going to kill every one of these motherfuckers that he sees until one of them catches him.

"Look at 'em burn, Gabe! Raining fire down from the fucking heavens!" Travie yells, shaking his fist at the sky.

"Hell yeah, that's what I'm talking about," Gabe laughs, wishing the sound actually meant it was funny. He leans back and stretches out on top of the boxes of supplies.

"It's going to burn the whole block down if they go at the buildings," Ashlee says from the cab of the truck.

"Fuck it, there aren't any people left there anyway - maybe it'll burn them all," Vicky T snorts from behind the wheel, throwing them all to the right when she hooks around a corner and onto the curb to keep the speed and avoid the crashed cars.

He'd met Vicky and Ashlee at the hotel, one worked behind the desk and the other one was rich, doesn't remember which is which, but the bitches have saved his ass a few times and Vicky has a vacuum behind her lips.

"That bomb worked pretty well, yeah?" Gabe asks Travie. He'd bought weed from the guy before the apocalypse but he could almost call him a friend now - the closest he would let himself have. He needed partners, not friends. Friends died.

"Yeah, better than I expected. Not quite the same as throwing a Molotov, though," Gabe says.

Travie snorts. "Pyro fucker."

"Maybe, but we've got bottled water and canned food and pretty fireworks to watch before bed," Gabe replies. "And the best part? We just took out about sixty zombies and we're all still alive."

"Appreciate the little things and all that shit, gotcha," Travie smiles, kicking at his foot.

Gabe isn't going to let the Deadeyes take anything else from him. The little things are all they have left.

 

**__**

**You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you,  
never wanted you, in all probability he hates you.  
It's not the worst thing that could happen.**

**  
**

Arthur watched Merlin out of the corner of his vision to make sure he wasn't going to disappear on him. Merlin faded more with every assignment and Arthur didn't know what to do.

He took a seat beside Sean and accepted the offered bottle of homemade 'whiskey', if you could call it that. Merlin was huddled close with Brendon while Spencer dozed across the loveseat with his head in Brendon's lap.

It had been too long since Merlin had cuddled or kissed him in public. He knew it was his fault for scolding him a few months ago after a particularly bad breach in the West Virginia collective; but it hadn't been appropriate for Merlin to hug him in front of a group of people that had lost their families. Something had shifted between them and all Arthur was sure of was that he fucking missed it. He couldn't say anything right and Merlin was drifting away from him.

He hadn't liked Merlin when they were roommates in a new country, but he hadn't made an effort to get to know him before the apocalypse. After - there was no one else that he wanted to be with. Merlin had been a rising vegan artist and vocal pacifist and Arthur was a rising politician with plans to join the BAF after getting his degree. Arthur should have been the better strategist out of the two of them, but Merlin had come through. Merlin was the reason the made it off campus and survived the trek out of town to the first survivor community.

They'd bonded, deeper than friendship and much deeper than love. He didn't have to tell Merlin the three little words when he could prove it. Merlin just wasn't letting him prove it anymore.

"I can't believe I'm doing this again," Sean said quietly.

Arthur turned his attention to the guy for the first time. "I know we're not supposed to talk about it, but I'm sorry about Tom."

Sean nodded absently. "Thanks. It's not; it isn't like we're not all expecting to get dead when we walk into a new compound. Our shelf life isn't really that long."

"Knowing that doesn't make losing your friend any different," Arthur replied. He glanced back over where Merlin was smiling at something Brendon was saying. He didn't know if he could go on if something happened to Merlin. They were in this together and he had no plans of going forward alone.

"You ever think about quitting? Taking your boy and getting out?" Sean asked.

"Every day," Arthur answered.

"Tom and I, we...never talked about it. Pete and Patrick never talked about it either. You might want to talk about it before you end up like us," Sean said.

Arthur took a swallow of whiskey and passed it back to him.

Gabe stood up, clanking his empty bottle against the desk to get their attention. "All right, guys. Let's get down to business. Chopper's going to fly us out tomorrow. Ryland and Suarez are coming to coordinate and Travie's on explosives. This isn't like our other gigs. This community isn't a small group of survivors - it's the biggest compound we have on the West Coast. Kids, seniors, everything. They run the power and the water for the West Side. We lost Portland, we cannot fuck this up."

"We know that, Gabe, don't talk to us like we're stupid," Pete chimed in.

Gabe flipped him off but Arthur remembered how Gabe had changed when Pete left the Agency. He also remembered how distraught Pete had been when they lost Patrick. There was a lot of history between them and it had to be bad for Pete to come back to the job for Sean when he hadn't stayed for Gabe.

"The fucking skeleton government decided that they could lower patrols on the fences so they could get more bodies working in the fields. They have at least four breaches and they lost half their militia on the last one. It's a fucking mess, they've got zombies herded into abandoned buildings and they used Molotovs on them and lost half of downtown to fires."

"Should we wait until tomorrow?" Sean asked after a beat.

Gabe sighed. "No, we shouldn't, but I'm making an executive decision to wait so the kids can get some rest. We need clear heads and steady hands."

"We can't lose California," Brendon said.

"We won't lose California," Spencer said without sitting up.

"All right. We're going to break out the frozen food tonight, TV dinners for everyone, and last call for alcohol in three hours so nobody throws up in the chopper. We'll go over strategy once Suarez hears from all the contacts. You're dismissed for now, the cafeteria's already powering up the microwaves if you're hungry," Gabe said.

"I'm so going for Salisbury steak," Brendon said. Spencer glanced up at him.

"No, all your Salisbury steak belongs to me."

They scrambled to get to their feet and the childish fight seemed to lighten the tension. Merlin was looking at him with a curious expression. Arthur stood up and Merlin smiled.

It was enough for now. But he might have to think about having one of those talks with Merlin soon.

**__**

 

**One minute, Robert Paulson was the warm center that the light of the world crowded around, and the next moment, Robert Paulson was an object.  
After the police shot, the amazing miracle of death.** ****

**  
**

"Three coming on your left, Ross!" Spencer yells, swinging the aluminum bat to take out the zombie that had crossed into the invisible 'too close omg' circle of defense they were using to make their way to the corner market.

They're so close to being out of Vegas and he'd run out of prayers for survivors to join up with. It was him, Brendon and Ryan against the zombies until something changed. Spencer doesn't want to die, he doesn't want to conform and be one of the walking dead. He just wants to fucking live and get the hell out of here.

Ryan turns and fires three shots, the heads exploding like rotten pumpkins against a sidewalk. "Go, we're almost there, Brendon, get the window."

Spencer had been surprised that Ryan and Brendon had only known each other a few days when they worked together so well. But Spencer's a part of the team now and it's only been a few weeks. Weeks full of snitched junk food and hot sodas and bad jokes and sleepless nights. And dead zombies.

It's nothing like in the video games. He's hot and exhausted and fucking hungry and they just keep coming, he hasn't taken a breath that didn't taste like fear in days.

He swings the bat and feels Ryan's heat against his back, the gunshots sending tremors through him from the contact. Brendon is nailing zombies right and left with his lead pipe until he has enough room to dart forward and up onto the ledge under the window. Spencer's vaguely aware of Brendon covering his face before swinging the pipe and shattering the window.

"How's the cover in there?" Spencer yells, moving forward so he can get his back to the building so the dead couldn't sneak up behind him.

Ryan joins him, firing as fast as he can reload. There are a lot of reasons Ryan got to hold their only gun.

He doesn't know much about Ryan apart from an obsession with depressing novels and being the prettiest survivor left in the world. Brendon's an open book, though, and he feels like they could've been friends before the end of the world if they'd met.

"Pull down gate in here, almost got it!" Brendon yells and Spencer climbs onto the windowsill and pulls Ryan up behind him. He spots Brendon standing on his tiptoes fucking with a chain.

"Still almost?" Ryan calls, pushing in another clip.

Brendon grunts and the solid metal grate slams down, barely giving Spencer enough time to pull Ryan out of the way.

"Jesus fuck," Ryan chokes out. "Clear the place and block the doors."

"On it," Spencer says, taking his bat and going toward the employee door while Brendon heads toward the bathroom.

They rarely stay in the same building more than one night and Spencer never pushes the subject even if they find a place with a working shower. He just wants to get the fuck out of town. Brendon put the idea in his head that even if they don't find other people - there would at least be fewer zombies to fight off.

It's enough of a reason to keep him swinging the bat and busting zombie heads. He's learned not to look them in the face, he knows better than to feel sorry for them - there's no place for pity now.

The back exit is padlocked from the inside and the smear of blood in the storage room lets him know someone had been inside when the place was locked down. He moves back into the front room and Ryan's sitting on the counter counting his bullets in small piles as he refills the clips.

Brendon steps out a moment later, wiping down his pipe with a roll of paper towels. "Took down one in the bathroom. Three bodies back there, so we should use the girl's bathroom. It smells pretty bad."

"Everything smells like shit now. I miss smog," Spencer says.

"Place still has power, though. We should make the best of it and cook some of these microwave dinners and stock up on water," Brendon says.

"Fuck yes, microwave burritos - early apologies for any residual gas," Spencer says. Brendon snorts out a laugh and Spencer pats him on the back as they head toward the refrigerators toward the back.

Spencer doesn't realize Ryan's not following until the gunshot rips through the room. When he gets back to the counter, Ryan's slumped on the floor missing his jaw and his head a mess of blood.

"Ryan," Brendon gasps, his voice wrecked.

"Was he bitten? He didn't say - he wasn't bitten, what..." Spencer moves first, undressing Ryan without a second thought and searching for any injuries. "He wasn't bitten - he's - why would he do this? He isn't bitten - his clothes..."

Brendon sits down in the floor and stares at him, glazed eyes tracking Spencer's hands. Spencer finally leans back. He wasn't infected and he still shot himself.

"We should move him into the back," Brendon says after a long moment.

"Why would he..." Spencer whispers.

"Haven't you thought about it? I'd rather go out like that than get infected, it's...fuck this, he wasn't - he saved me, he saved us - he taught me how to do all this, everything, and now..." Brendon blurts out in a rush.

Spencer moves over and grabs one of Brendon's shaking hands, lacing their fingers together. Brendon settles and Spencer manages a full breath without shuddering. "We'll get through this. We don't need him. He taught us enough."

"If he gave up, then what's left for us?" Brendon whispers.

"We can fight for him, too. We have to try, we have to keep trying," Spencer says.

Brendon nods after a moment and squeezes his hand. "We'll always remember him."

Spencer leans his head over on Brendon's shoulder and they look at Ryan's body. "His name was Robert Paulson."

"He'd like that," Brendon says under his breath.

**__**

 

**Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat. It's not a goddamn seminar.**

**  
**

"I don't want to go. I don't want to do this anymore," Merlin whispered when Brendon slid behind the toolbox into the shadows to sit with him.

"God, I fucking feel that. I think we all have a limit of what we can take before we lost what's left of our minds. Maybe you've hit that limit," Brendon said.

He was already wearing his makeup, bright red flourishes drawn on his face. Merlin wasn't sure he could talk about this the morning before they were supposed to walk headfirst into battle again.

"Why do you still do it?" Merlin asked. Brendon slid his arm around his shoulders and Merlin gave into the half hug and leaned against him

"I don't have anything else. And I probably love Spencer and I don't want to die without him by my side. He makes me not want to die," Brendon said.

Merlin felt that way about Arthur. Most of the time. "I won't quit."

"If you want out, you can get out. We've all won our parts of the war just making it this far. We don't have to fight anymore," Brendon said.

"But someone has to do it. Better us than someone who has people still left to lose," Merlin said.

Merlin wondered how much time they had before they had to leave. He heard the door open but Brendon didn't move, even when Spencer called his name softly, questioning.

"He looks for me," Brendon said. Sure enough, Spencer heard him and walked over, sliding in beside Merlin.

"What are we doing? Existential crisis? I had mine in the shower earlier," Spencer said.

"I doubt that," Merlin replied. Spencer was tough as nails.

"Hm. True, though. I don't want to go. We just got back, I haven't had time to recharge my battery of courage," Spencer said.

"I think my batteries ran dead years ago," Merlin muttered.

"Fear helps us keep going. One day we'll do enough to not be afraid anymore. But I think...we have to keep going until we get to that point," Brendon said.

"Arthur's looking for you," Spencer said after a long moment. "If I didn't know better, I'd think he was jealous."

"Good thing for him that I'm into blonds," Merlin replied.

**__**

 

**If I could wake up in a different place, at a different time,  
could I wake up as a different person?** ****

**  
**

"There's someone up there. They're talking, none of the other zombies have been talking, have they?" Merlin asks, leaning heavily on Arthur's shoulder.

They've been running on adrenaline for over two weeks, hiding and scavenging and killing any white-eyed freaks that they came across. Arthur had gotten a lot better at smashing their heads. Merlin had told him that it was their weak spot like a bully's nutsack - go for it first before worrying about the rest.

Their heads were soft and it was painfully easy to smash once you got the hang of it.

They'd made it out of the city a couple of days ago and the stolen car had gotten them to a suburban gas station. Merlin tripped over a stack of charred bodies and busted his ankle yesterday. It had been terrifying to check the food for broken skin but it seemed like a nasty sprain and no open wound but they'd stayed to hopefully survive another night

_"I don't see anything, Adam, are you sure?"_

_"Better safe than sorry, don't you think?"_

"They're alive," Arthur says.

"We should see if they're friendly, make sure they're not infected," Merlin whispers, poking him in the side.

Arthur clears his throat and hears their footsteps stop. "We come in peace?"

"Awesome," Merlin snickers into his hand.

"Are you infected?" One of the men call.

"No - my friend has a twisted ankle but there are no open wounds - you can check him if you want!" Arthur replies. Merlin shoves him.

"Thanks for throwing me under the bus, asshole," Merlin hisses, pushing past him and into the open where two men were standing between the gas pumps holding shotguns.

Arthur realizes that his strategy was definitely flawed and scrambles to catch up to him.

"My name's Merlin, that's Arthur and we were sophomores at what used to be Springfield University," Merlin says, holding his arms out.

The guy on the left has crazy curly hair and the guy on the right has dangerously dark eyes and they're both looking at Merlin.

"What's with the long sleeves? It's hot as fuck out here," Curly says.

"In case the zombies get close enough to bite, they at least have to get through two layers of cotton," Arthur says.

"What happened to your leg?" Curly asks as the other guy approaches cautiously. Merlin tugs at his jean's leg to show his layered socks and toe off his shoe with a wince. Arthur steadies him automatically. This is either a godsend or another step into hell.

"He tripped over that shit over there, burned bodies. Haven't seen any zombies since this morning, though, we were going to head out again tonight if his ankle was better," Arthur says, hoping Merlin was good enough to run if they had to.

The guy was kneeling now with Merlin's foot in his hand. "No scratches or blood from what I can see. You guys are a lot cleaner than I expected if you've been on the run for long."

"We try to stay where there's still water, and soap," Merlin replies.

"Is it just the two of you?" Curly asks.

"You're the first living people we've seen in a while, it's fucking hell out here," Arthur answers.

"Agreed. We're bunkered down in a shelter a few miles away. We could use some more manpower, if you're up for it. I mean, where are you guys heading?" Curly asks.

"Anywhere," Merlin blurts out.

"Get your stuff. Got any weapons?" the guy pushing Merlin's shoe back on asks.

"We have bats and a pipe that have been working pretty well for us," Arthur answers. "Don't have to reload or haul around bullets."

"I'm Ray. This is Adam. Let's go, before it gets dark. We've got a jeep and a route we know is clear," Curly says.

"I'm carrying the shotgun and that means I get to ride shotgun. Hurry up," Adam adds.

**__**

 

**Everyone smiles with that invisible gun to their head.**

 

Brendon stepped off the plane first, every facet of their visit choreographed for the media who needed a hopeful photo op after the loss of Portland.

Pete had done a great job painting his face and Gabe had even helped slicking down and spiking up his hair. Gabe was always more relaxed with Pete around.

They couldn't be relaxed now. Spencer's hand was hot on his back and Brendon used it to steady him as he started the trek to the 'press tent' at the edge of the football field that served as Sacramento's airstrip.

The internet was limited, and the media was different in all the compounds - some had radio and/or TV stations broadcasting, and mail was delivered in envelopes like the old days. There were more reporters here than usual but Brendon didn't give a shit about stage fright anymore considering he'd be fighting for his life in a couple of hours.

"You got a script or are we asking questions?" one of the guys straightening a digital camera asked.

"Script," Spencer answered, pulling out his chair like a gentlemen and earning a glare from Brendon that sent a spatter of chuckles from the gathered press.

Brendon unfolded the paper Gabe and the others had scrawled out for him but he could have recited it from memory considering he'd listened to it over and over when they were outlining it.

He smiled like he meant it and made sure he spoke in an even, natural tone about solidarity and hope and vigilance and remembrance. He talked about how they were going to win the war and that things would get better.

He promised the people that he was allegedly saving that things would get better. He wondered if this was how priests and ministers felt when they stood in front of their congregations and spouted words to keep the pews filled. He was supposed to give the survivors something to wish for, something to believe in. It didn't matter if he believed it, or if it was true, but someone had to say it.

"That's it," Spencer said when the speech was over and the reporters started murmuring and adjusting their recorders and cameras.

"Brendon, how many did your guys lose in Portland?" One of the reporters asked.

"Too many," Brendon replied. "A lot of good people died up there. It's not going to happen here, or anywhere else if we can help it."

"Come on, Bren, we have a meeting," Spencer said, glaring at the milling reporters before wrapping his fingers around his wrist tightly and turning him away.

"Was that good enough? I kind of zoned out for the speech," Brendon said.

"You convinced me," Spencer smiled, bumping shoulders with him and releasing his wrist to lay his arm across Brendon's shoulder to pull him into step. "And you look good, that's what matters to the cameras."

"I don't think any of us are really convinced anymore. I'm too tired to care that much," Brendon muttered.

"Fuck you. We're..." Spencer started.

"If you say 'in it to win it', I will kick your ass," Brendon laughed.

The flashes of the cameras caught him mid-grin and he didn't even care what caption they put underneath it.

**__**

 

**Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption!  
We are God's unwanted children? So be it!**

**  
**

"Viva La Resistance!" Travie howls from across the room, his shirt long lost and bottles of beer in both hands.

Gabe isn't sure Travie's going to be okay. Losing Vicky and then Ashlee on their roadtrip burning deadeyes has fucked them both up pretty good.

Neither of them can pretend that it's fun anymore. Gabe wasn't supposed to let himself care enough about anyone to care about losing them.

He still isn't sure how they got to Chicago, or how they ended up in this bowling alley with a ramshackle group of locals with awful fashion sense.

"There used to be this scale of depression and grief or something," Pete says. Gabe hasn't figured Pete out yet, but he's been pretty drunk since they got here a few days ago. He's short with slicked down hair and a quick tongue but despite his stature, he's got a bona fide team together.

"I'm sure the scale still exists, even if you don't know it anymore," Patrick murmurs from across the table behind his hat. He flicks a bottle cap at Pete who catches it in one hand.

"A bear shits in the wood and all that. Anyway, I think our grief scales are all out of whack because zombies aren't really giving anyone time to deal with each level," Pete continues.

"Tuesdays are when he goes existential," Patrick yawns.

"Like you even know what day it is," Pete replies. Patrick gives him the finger.

"Where are you guys headed?" Patrick asks Gabe.

Travie lets out another hoot from across the room and clinks his bottles with Tom and Bob. It's much easier to remember names when there were so few people alive to give them. "I don't know. Somewhere we can get more ammo, I guess."

"You should chill here, hang out. We'll take you over to the camp one day so you can see the 'glory of cooperation' or whatever they call it," Pete says, leaning forward and putting his chin on his crossed arms. "I mean, we keep the camp safe and they give us supplies, so it works out."

"So you work for them?" Gabe asks. He hasn't heard about that.

"Nah. They don't really pay us or anything. We just, sort of, help them out," Patrick replies. "There are families and kids and stuff, old people, you know? They're just trying to ride out the apocalypse like the rest of us."

"It's not like, penance, or whatever," Pete starts. "It's just, we're healthy, we've already killed a shitload of deadeyes and we can clear an area faster and safer than they can. They don't know what they're doing and do, mostly. They settle and get shit together and we kill zombies."

"One day, we'll kill enough that we can try and settle down with them," Patrick says.

Pete's eyes are dark but he nods. "Yeah. One day. It's your turn to fetch drinks, wench, go and do my bidding."

For a moment, Gabe's sure Patrick's going to kick Pete's ass, but he's surprised that Patrick leaves willingly.

"We'll never kill enough, no matter what 'Trick thinks," Pete says suddenly. "There was a camp about fifty miles south, had about six hundred locked down in this military base. Fuckers sent out a group of fifteen to search for supplies, they lost ten and the remaining five walked back in and infected the whole camp. We had to burn the whole place, it's probably still burning."

"I liked his pep talk better," Gabe says after the image fades from his vision. "What about the camps? Do they know better now?"

Pete shrugs. "We tell them what we know; Bob's helped a couple set up perimeters. Some guys call us when they need help on the ham radio we have at one of our stops. There's nothing defined."

"Then we should define it," Gabe says.

Pete snorts and takes a long swallow of beer. "Easy to say, much harder to do."

**__**

**  
**

**We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires,  
and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't.**

**  
**

Spencer kept Brendon in his peripheral vision on the right and Gabe in his vision on the left but he didn't lose sight of the streets on the opposite side of the fence littered with charred and headless bodies. They were positioned in the beds of the truck so they could fire over the heads of the repair teams working by the fence. They decided to split up and reinforce the inner perimeters before trying to regain lost ground and he could never deny that Gabe was a damned good leader.

He wondered when they would finally break, all of them. He wondered who would take their places in this endless fight against the undead. He wondered when he would get out of this comic book where he actually used the word 'undead' with a straight face.

"Hey! Hey!"

Spencer immediately centered his gun on the man approaching the fence, from the outside. He was still talking, but he was still outside the perimeter.

"That's Harris. We lost him yesterday," the driver said.

"HARRY!"

Spencer's gut twisted when he saw the woman drop her toolbelt and rush the fence.

"Stay back," Spencer called. Gabe was already on his way to intercept.

"Miss, hang on," Gabe said, moving in front of her as Harry got to the fence. Spencer kept his sights trained on the man's face and he saw his bloody fingers wrap around the chain links in the barrier.

"Willa, honey, no, stay back, I cleared off most of this block but there was only so much I could do on my own - just - it's been nine hours since I got bit," Harry said.

Spencer's finger relaxed. He couldn't shoot a man who still had his sanity.

"Harry, no, just, you're wrong, I'm sure you'll be fine, we'll get you back inside and..." the wife cried, struggling against Gabe's arms.

"No, Willa, no, I can't, I'm bit, I know it, and you can't help me now - I did what I could to clear and bar up the buildings and stored some supplies at the stops on the perimeter," Harry said. "I can't - I don't have much time."

Willa sobbed into Gabe's chest and Spencer's hands shook. He had to focus.

"Take a five minute break behind the trucks, check your gear," Brendon ordered, motioning his gun toward the crew. It was always weird to see strangers following their orders but Spencer hoped they'd give the doomed couple a few minutes of privacy.

"God, Willa, honey, I love you so much, okay? You take care of our kids and make sure...make sure you tell them how much Daddy loves them, okay?"

Dammit. Spencer wished he could turn his ears off. It was easier not to think about the deadeyes they shot.

A gunshot shattered the moment and a lone zombie fell to the sidewalk from the corner of the outside street. Brendon reloaded his rifle without a tremble.

"Willa, say your goodbyes to Harry," Gabe's voice was low but decisive. It seemed like Spencer was the only shaky one today but he knew there would be a lot of alcohol soaked up tonight.

Willa pulled away and Gabe let her. She walked over to the fence and held out both hands, tentative, skimming them over her husband's knuckles before pulling back. "I love you, Harry. I'll never forget you; I'll never stop loving you, okay? You're the bravest man I know."

Harris muttered something Spencer, gratefully, couldn't hear and Willa turned back to Gabe, staggering.

"Go behind the trucks. It's okay," Gabe lied. Willa didn't question him, pausing long enough to give him a devastated half-hug before rushing behind the trucks into the arms of some lurking crew.

Spencer turned to the people out of Harry's vision and caught the attention of the head guy. "Turn around, all of you. Close your eyes."

Gabe was speaking with Harry but Spencer knew how this worked. Brendon already had his eyes closed but Spencer waited until Harris turned away and Gabe raised his gun.

Spencer didn't close his eyes. He didn't watch Gabe's step back from the recoil or the splash of blood and brain spattering on the sidewalk. He raised his gun when he spotted the cluster of zombies scuffling from the end of the closest street. He picked off four and Gabe got two with his pistol before Harry's body hit the ground.

Brendon's eyes were still closed when Spencer looked over.

"Everyone back in position. Willa, you can sit in the truck, send the driver out to take over," Gabe said. Brendon opened his eyes and met Spencer's gaze. They shared a nod and turned back to the fence.

**__**

 

**Only after disaster can we be resurrected.**

**  
**

"Brendon, are you listening?" Spencer hisses in his ear.

"Sometimes. What?" He sits up and settles in the hard plastic chair. Spencer raises his hand to his neck and it's warm underneath his shaggy hair.

The tall guy with crazy eyes glares at him and Brendon tries to remember where he is and what the guy is talking about. Gabe, that's his name. Brendon feels accomplished.

"Thank you, Spencer. What I was saying is that you kids straightened up this camp better than my group could have. We could use a team like yours."

"We're not a team, we're just fucking," Brendon says, fighting a yawn.

"We are a team, he got me out of Vegas and all the way here," Spencer says. He thumps Brendon's ear.

"Okay, partner, you were listening, do you want to join his club?" Brendon asks.

"People are dying," Gabe says. His eyes probably aren't any crazier than Brendon's considering the circumstances.

"How'd you even find us?" Spencer asks, distracting Brendon from his mental rewind to remember what Gabe has been telling them.

"We were on our way here. There are only a few groups of us working together like this. We're not really big on recruiting and we definitely don't take random volunteers. We want our guys to be able to help and come back safe. Nobody's going to rescue us so we have to rescue ourselves."

Brendon sighs. "I've always had a problem with authority figures."

"Really?" Spencer asks after a beat.

"No. I actually was a really good boy. I was just really gay and easily distracted. Will you pay attention so I don't have to?" Brendon asks Spencer.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," Gabe says, popping his knuckles.

"We aren't talking to you right now," Spencer glares before turning back to Brendon. "You have to pay attention, too if we're fighting zombies."

"I just can't pay attention to story time, I know how to do the zombie thing," Brendon replies.

"Oh." Spencer turns back to Gabe. "Yeah, we're in, I guess. I always wanted to travel."

"I wonder if the Grand Canyon is full of zombies yet," Brendon asks. Gabe is staring at him and Brendon meets his gaze. "This whole traveling and killing dead people thing works for you? It's worth it?"

Gabe doesn't answer but a group of kids run by the window. They're holding hands and a tiny toddler still clumsy on new legs is linked by giggling girls.

"Making shit safe for people is worth it. I'm just not one of those people that's happy with this new idea of safety in hiding," Gabe says.

Brendon studies the man and reaches over, clasping Spencer's hand. It's been months, since the end of the world, that Brendon's had a feeling like this. Gabe is someone that believes in something tangible.

"We can't save the world, but maybe we can help," Brendon says. Spencer squeezes his hand.

"Nice to have you on the team. Pack up; we're heading to Montana in an hour. Crash course in your new job," Gabe said, smiling with bright teeth that were out of place outside of a dentist's office.

"Is it weird that this is my first real job? Figures I won't get paid for it," Spencer says. Brendon's surprised when Spencer leans over and kisses him, taking his breath. "At least it means I'll get to fuck you on an actual bed more often, or at least a cot."

"God, you're worse than Pete and Patrick. They're going to love you," Gabe laughs, totally breaking the moment. Brendon quickly remembers why he doesn't like the guy.

**__**

 

**You have to know the answer to this question!  
If you died right now, how would you feel about your life?**

**  
**

It was a bad plan. Everyone knew it, but that didn't change the fact that they needed to take back the streets they'd lost. They'd secured the inner perimeters and they were focused on repossessing the outer defenses one street at a time. But it had been too long since Gabe had 'sent in the runners' for Spencer not to worry about the radio silence.

Spencer admired Gabe and would follow him just about anywhere, but he wasn't sure about this plan. Brendon, Merlin and Pete were the fastest and most of the teams followed the same structure as the larger teams. The fastest, or smallest - went in first. They weren't supposed to clear a place without backup. Brendon would call and tell them what they were walking into.

It had been too long but the crackle in his ear and Brendon's breathless voice didn't bring the reassurance he needed..

_"We need a Molotov, the skylight, we're cornered - light them up."_

"What? We can't, that'll..." Spencer gasped when he processed the words. They couldn't drop a fucking bomb into the building they were currently inside.

"If they're cornered, we have to," Arthur said, pale. But he made no move to the bombs.

"They wouldn’t ask if they didn't think it was the last resort," Sean said.

"Sooner's better than later, we're already compromised," Merlin said in their ear.

"No - no no," Arthur gasped. Spencer felt like he'd been punched in the gut, he couldn't breathe.

"I'm going up, watch my back," Sean said, grabbing a bag of grenades and darting out of the van and up the latter before the deadeyes noticed him.

"It was an honor fighting with all of you, I'm sorry, brothers." Pete said suddenly. There was a gunshot too loud for a zombie shot and Brendon let out a hissed curse.

"Brendon, report!" Gabe said, his voice breaking.

"His name was Robert Paulson," Brendon answered. Gabe bit back a sound and Spencer tried to take a breath. He failed.

"Down, now!" Merlin yelled and there was a deafening blast. Spencer believed it was finally the end of the world.

They stared at the ladder, the smell of Arthur's vomit and the smoke from the warehouse clogging their noses.

Spencer and Gabe raised their guns when Sean appeared at the edge of the roof. He picked off a couple of straggling zombies and didn't see Brendon and Merlin until they were on the ground and halfway to the van. Gabe jerked them inside one at a time despite the blood still dripping from their clothes.

"Are you, let me see..." Spencer gasped, tearing at Brendon's clothes with his gloved hands as the van lurched into motion around them.

Brendon was too pale, too out of breath, but he grabbed Spencer's hands and the tremors ran through both of them. "Pete - we lost Pete..."

"Are you bitten?" Spencer demanded.

"I don't know, I don't think so," Brendon said, clenching Spencer's wrists so tightly that he lost all feeling in his fingers. They all lost their balance as the van slowed abruptly.

"We're inside the safe zone, get out," Gabe said.

"Give the kids a chance to breathe," Sean whispered.

"He was my best goddamn friend - I can't - we have to check them fucking now!" Gabe snapped, throwing open the door before the van fully stopped.

Brendon pulled his hands away and scrambled out. "Check me, fuck, get the hose," he panted, jerking off his gloves and stripping down like he was on fire.

Spencer forced himself to move, throwing a bag of tubing and zip ties at Sean and pulling out the portable decon shower. He set it up faster than he'd ever managed in practice and Gabe walked Brendon over, standing under the water with him and scrubbing his hands over his naked body.

Sean grabbed Spencer's arm and kept him from rushing over. "You're too close, let Gabe have this one," he said, holding his gaze.

"I need to make sure, I need to be there," Spencer said but Sean's grip and his own shock kept him stuck in place. Brendon was covered with bruises and the water was dark with blood around his bare feet.

"Merlin, your turn," Gabe said, shivering.

Spencer hoped he was doing it because he was cold because he couldn't handle it if Gabe lost it. Gabe was their leader, he couldn't lose it.

Sean let go of him and Spencer put his arms around Brendon and pulled him close. Brendon looked like a wet kitten with his makeup smeared and his hair sticking up from Gabe's thorough wipedown.

"There were so many - they got Pete - they - on his neck, I couldn't get to him..." Brendon choked brokenly.

"It's okay now, we..." Spencer started.

"It's not okay - nothing is okay - Pete's dead, everyone's fucking dead because of those fucking monsters - they can't - Nothing's okay!" Gabe snapped.

Merlin hadn't said a word yet but he pulled back a hand and smacked Gabe across the face. "Shut up and do your job, you can flip out after you clear or curse me," Merlin said hoarsely.

"He's clean," Arthur said. Brendon didn't start crying until Gabe did. Spencer was already crying.

**__**

 

**I say never be complete. I say stop being perfect.  
I say let's evolve. Let the chips fall where they may.**

**  
**

Merlin doesn't sleep well anymore. In the dorm, there was always the bass of a stereo or drunken laughter keeping him awake. On the run, it was the fear of zombies getting into their hiding spaces. It was only late at night lying awake that he would let himself think about how he would never be able to sleep well again. He can never go home. His Mum was surely dead; from what they'd heard the UK and most island countries had been overrun without repair.

He doesn't dream about home.

"God, even when I'm trying to sleep you're annoying me," Arthur's voice breaks the rare silence.

They're somewhere outside of Jersey, or New York, he hasn't figured it out yet, but the Goth guys ran a tight ship and they have actual beds tonight in a repurposed hotel.

"Shove over," Arthur grumbles, pulling back the sheets and stretching out beside him.

The cuddling is new, only a few weeks old. After getting tagged into the weird 'resistance', Arthur has been more focused and serious about protecting the survivors instead of just escaping the dead. He's also been more focused on Merlin.

Arthur's hands slip under his shirt, cool and rough from swinging the bats they still use to clear out zombies and Merlin shivers under his touch.

"We have to take sleep when we can get it. We're almost done here, Frank and Mikey only want to take the perimeter out a couple more miles," Arthur says. "Can I kiss you?"

"Okay," Merlin decides. He doesn't want to talk about work anymore. He wants to sleep; he wants to feel safe, even if it's only for a little while. He likes Arthur close; he's the only person left that knew him before the end of the world.

Arthur's lips are soft and his tongue tentative and Merlin relaxes into it.

"I used to hate you, you know," Arthur says, pushing the blankets aside and straddling his legs. "Your stupid hair and your insane eyelashes, fuck, I've never met anyone with eyelashes like yours. You were in all the classes I didn't test into and you wore those skinny jeans that I hated until I saw you wear them."

Merlin laughs. That's not what he expected. "You're full of shit; you just want to get laid."

Arthur stills, holding Merlin's chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. "I'm serious. I want you to know that this isn't just because you're convenient."

Merlin raises up to kiss him quickly. "I am convenient, though. Why were you such a prat to me if you liked me?"

Arthur moves to stretch out beside him. "Things were different then. I had to keep my grades up so my father would keep paying my tuition and he had specific ideas about who I should be dating, mainly that they should be white and female. I didn't get a chance to come to my senses before everything went to shit. I wouldn't have survived this long without you. So in the spirit of Carpe Diem, we should make out."

"Should I just lie back and think of England?" Merlin asks.

"If you're not going to participate, I'll go back to my bed."

Merlin trails his fingers up his arm. "We know nothing about each other. I don't even like you that much," he says absently. "I mean, I like the way you always have my back and I trust you more than anyone else in the world. I think you're hot and if you weren't the stereotypical straight-boy, I'd be all over you."

"I don't know if it's the zombie apocalypse or what, but it seems you're mixing your signals there," Arthur says.

"Mm." Merlin sits up and strips off his shirt. "I'll probably like you a lot more if you can get me off."

This is definitely a better way to spend quiet time. Maybe he'll be able to sleep tonight.

**__**

 

**There's hysterical shouting in tongues like at church,  
and when you wake up Sunday afternoon you feel saved.**

**  
**

Arthur wasn't sure how they got back to the compound; all he was sure of was that Merlin was alive. Gabe had been muttering to himself, falling apart in Sean's steady march into the conference room and Spencer and Brendon were moving as a unit. Arthur had to make do by clinging to Merlin's hand and waiting for his eyes to clear.

"Arthur? Did you get Hurston Street..." someone said, stopping him.

"Can you deal with the announcement? I think, I think I should sit down," Merlin said quietly.

Arthur wanted to protest, he wanted to lock Merlin up and shake him to make sure he was intact; but someone had to step up. They had a job to do; it was what Gabe was always drilling into them. Merlin went into the room and Arthur turned to the man he recognized from their earlier briefing. "We're taking a short time out. We had to fall back, we lost one of our own trying to clear the warehouses."

The man was visibly shocked, but nodded. "I'm sorry. What should we do?"

Arthur never wanted to be in Gabe's shoes. "The inner perimeters are secure; everything's exactly like it was this morning. We know what we're dealing with but for now we need to regroup."

"Is Saporta going to make a statement, talk to our chief?"

"Not tonight, I'll get some more details and meet with him later. We need some time. I need to send out some messages, can you find me a working, connected computer?"

When he'd made all the requests he could think of - coffee, quiet, snacks - he walked into the conference room. Gabe's sobs were muffled against Travie's chest and Sean was pacing nearby with a cordless phone to his ear. It took him a moment too long to spot Merlin sitting alone with his head between his knees. He sat down beside him and put his hand on his trembling back.

"Hey. Look at me," Arthur whispered.

"Fuck, Arthur. Just, fuck."

"Hey," he said, tugging on Merlin's arm until he loosened so Arthur could manhandle him into a hug. "Come back to me."

"I don't think I can walk this off. I don't think I can keep going like this," Merlin said, bringing his arms around Arthur and fisting his hands in his shirt.

Arthur wanted Merlin close again, but not at this cost. "We'll retire, I'm with you, I don't...I can't stand the thought of losing you. Especially not like this. Even when you're not talking to me, you're still okay and alive..."

"Don't suck up, not right now," Merlin said into his neck. "Shit."

He held on tight, splaying his hands on Merlin's back so he could feel his breaths and match him.

Arthur watched over Merlin's shoulder as Brendon pulled away from Spencer and skittered across the carpet on his hands and knees to get to Gabe, tugging him away from Travie.

He was expecting Gabe to punch him in the face, but Gabe wasn't the same.

"Stop it, you asshole, stop it - you can't lose it now, I won't let you," Brendon hissed out, grabbing his wrists. Gabe didn't react apart from avoiding Brendon's eyes.

"You didn't know what was in there, you couldn't have known, none of us could - but he knew...we all know the way this works," Brendon said. Arthur shuddered and Merlin relaxed his arms, pulling back to look at him.

"He was out. He was out, Brendon, and I dragged him back in and now," Gabe said, hoarse.

"You didn't drag him into anything, he never took orders from anyone," Brendon said. "Please. He didn't want this for you. We can't lose California, Gabe. We'll mourn forever but we can't give up. We've lost too much to back out now."

Arthur had never considered Brendon the most articulate guy, but Merlin and Gabe both responded. Merlin's eyes cleared, the bright in the blue returning and Gabe huffed out a breath that wasn't a sob.

"Kid's right," Sean said, lowering his phone. "I called in reinforcements. I had to let them know about Pete."

Merlin laced their fingers together and they waited. They were all holding their breath.

"I'll get myself together and talk to the press. I should do it. Arthur, will you handle the locals?" Gabe asked.

"Of course," Arthur answered. Even if they ended up quitting, he had to finish this out. He wouldn't let Gabe down, not right now.

"Brendon, Merlin, go take real showers. Dinner in half an hour, here, with as much alcohol as you can find. Spencer, help Arthur take notes so we can regroup tomorrow. I don't think I'm going to be much good tonight, not yet." Gabe leaned into Brendon's hug and let him be pulled to his feet.

"Chin up, chest out, there's our douchebag leader," Brendon said.  "We've all lost people. Most of us lost everyone we loved when the deadeyes turned up. It should be habit by now for people to die. But we wouldn't be human if that was habit. We don't have the luxury of sharing long histories with each other anymore but that doesn't make our connections any less. Pete...we all want a chance to give people futures since we're losing the past. Pete was here for the beginning and hopefully we'll get through this so we can say he was here for the end of it, too."

Gabe stared at him for a long moment before nodding. The air seemed to come back into the room and Arthur felt that same twinge of hope that had gotten him into the Agency in the first place. This might be the end, but maybe it could be the Deadeye's end instead of mankind's.


End file.
